Russian
by Alemae
Summary: Some insight to the fiery, red-headed assassin we all know and love, for she is defined by the place she comes from.


A/N: I've been contemplating writing something for this movie for a while now, because the Avengers is just a brilliant show and I do love the non-relationship relationship between Clint and Natasha. Anyway, this idea randomly hit me out of nowhere today, so I just penned it down. Hope you like it.

* * *

They stride through the hallways of SHIELD headquarters, boots clicking on the marbled flooring. Fury is still talking, giving them a rundown of their recently completed mission. They are without a doubt the best agents that the covert operations agency has had in _decades_. Though they are unbeatable on their own, they are invincible when partnered together. They know this, and Fury knows this, and now, so does every terrorist in the world. Black Widow and Hawkeye are only sent on the missions that no one else can complete.

"…I still don't comprehend how the entire NYPD and five SWAT teams, together with aerial support, cannot bring down one crazy gun-wielding nutjob, but you and Romanoff just walk in, kill the man, and walk out. Alive." Fury is ranting at this point, baffled, but pleased with their success.

"There's a very simple answer to that, Director," Clint replied.

"And what is that, dare I ask?"

"Easy," Clint shrugs. "Natasha's Russian."

Natasha graces both men with an eyeroll before stalking off in the direction of her room in the headquarters. As she moves off, she barely catches Clint's whispered words to the director.

"They're born assassins. _Don't _cross them."

* * *

After today's mission, Natasha feels like all she needs is a good drink.

Though Clint does drink from time to time, she knows he has no great love for alcohol, what with his rather messy, convoluted history. So, when she decides that maybe today is one of those days where she wants to get almost stone-drunk, she slips silently out of her room in search of Steve. That super-soldier serum in his system prevents him from being able to become drunk, which makes him the perfect drinking partner.

She finds Steve on her first try in Training Room 1, trying and succeeding in beating the stuffing out of a punching bag. She leans against the doorframe, waiting. When she sees him pause in his relentless attack, she calls out to him.

"Fancy a drink?"

Steve Rogers whips towards the door, not having noticed her the entire time she was there. He looks at her, scrutinizing her body. Looking for injuries. She knows that the cut she sports on her right temple is not going to go unnoticed.

Steve nods his assent. "Give me a moment to shower."

Natasha waits patiently inside the training room previously occupied by Steve. After a while, her patience wears thin and she springs lightly to her feet, deciding to put her time to good use.

She jumps and grabs onto a pull-up bar suspended about a foot and a half above her head. With practiced ease, she swings her body around the bar like a seasoned gymnast, her grip firm. She balances herself effortlessly on her arms, her body straight as rod and perpendicular to the bar, her hands clenched around the metal. That was how Steve found her, seven minutes later, when he came back into the room in search of his drinking buddy.

"Ready to go?" he asks quietly. He knows she heard him, for two seconds later, she has thrown herself of the bar, launching smoothly into the air, before landing soundlessly in front of him. "Let's go."

Ten minutes later, they enter a crowded pub, where they are waved over to a table at which Bruce and Thor are seated. Steve manages to look sheepish.

"Well, I took the liberty of inviting both of them, hope you don't mind. Bruce needs to get out of the lab more and Thor needs to see the other side of the typical American lifestyle," he explains, rubbing the back of his head nervously. Natasha realises that she can't find it in herself to care and even manages to offer the scientist and Asgardian a slight smile. Beside her, she feels Steve exhale in relief.

Now come the drinks.

A while later, Bruce has conceded defeat after only two shots of vodka while the other three keep going strong.

Another twenty shots later, Thor's laugh has risen to a booming, deafening sound and there is a rather glazed look in his eyes. Steve has slowed down as well, but still continues determinedly. Natasha shows no sign of slowing, much to the merriment of her teammates.

After Natasha downs the next twenty shots with no noticeable change in her disposition, Steve begins to feel just the teensiest bit unnerved and calls a halt to the festivities.

"You should stop, Natasha. Clint would emasculate me if something happened to you. How are you not drunk, anyway?" Natasha shrugs and gives in to his pleas.

It is Bruce Banner, ever the analytical scientist, who provides the answer.

"She's a Russian, Steve. Russians don't get drunk."

Natasha can't help but smile slightly at that answer.

* * *

They head back to SHIELD HQ after the impromptu drinking party, first ensuring that Bruce is escorted back to the Tower safely.

As Natasha heads back to her room to sort out and clean her gear, she feels the SHIELD-issued phone vibrate subtly in her jeans pocket. She slips it out and answers it, noting the name of the caller displayed on the screen of the phone. It's Pepper.

"Hey Natasha, I was just wondering what had happened, 'cause I just got back and Bruce-"

"Just make him some tea using the tea leaves that I keep in the cupboard above the sink. That should help."

"Okay, and I was wondering if you had seen the hard disk, you know the one that Tony-"

"In the safe in your office. The code's six-two-eight-nine-two-five."

"Thanks," Pepper mutters, and Natasha can hear the little 'beeps' of the safe buttons in the background. She sinks to the floor of her room and pulls her duffle bag towards her while placing the phone between her ear and shoulder. Then, she starts pulling out all her weapons, starting with the guns.

"Oh, and Natasha, about the new protocol and guidelines about the Avengers that I mentioned to you the other day, I wa-"

"I already brought it up to Fury. He's going to consider it before he gets back to you."

"That's great! Yeah, and tonight-"

"Clint's going to cook dinner. No more take-out."

"Yes! Thank god! Okay, now I seriously swear that you're psychic." Pepper giggles at the other end of the line.

"Nope, not psychic." Natasha removes the magazines from her guns and pulls out her knives.

"Yeah, yeah, I get it. You know everything because you're a spy. And because you're Russian."

"Oh, Pepper, you don't know the half of it."

"I don't think I even want to know. Okay, see you later! And bring Clint home early, he has to cook, you know!" She hangs up and throws the phone onto her bunk. Then, with barely a glance, she reaches out to grasp the hilt of one of her knives and flings it at the target she has on the back of her door.

Bullseye.

* * *

Later that night, the whole team had gathered at the Stark Tower for dinner, as per usual. Natasha padded soundlessly into the kitchen to get a glass of water. She stood at the sink, letting the water fill her cup while she absentmindedly watched Clint cooking at the stove. Without so much as glancing down at the cup, she shut off the tap once the cup was filled and brought the glass to her lips, her gaze not shifting from Clint's back.

Clint was clad in a thin, form-fitting black shirt that only helped to define that wonderfully _fit_ body of his. It automatically became her favorite shirt and she reminded herself to steal it from him when she had the chance.

"Tash?"

Damn Clint and his uncanny ability to always be able to sense her gaze upon him. He turned his head slightly to glance back at her, raising an eyebrow questioningly.

"Just enjoying the view."

His other eyebrow went up at her blatantly flirtatious tone. A small smile quirked his lips. He switched off the stove with a small 'click' before turning around to face her fully.

"Is that so?" he questioned, his voice smooth and seductive and full of promise. Clint's eyes locked onto hers- that oh-so-intense gray gaze that caused the muscles in the pit of her stomach to tighten. Natasha merely hummed noncommittally, opting instead to bring her glass back to her lips.

In a lightning-fast movement too fast for regular human eyes to track, Clint had her pressed up against the kitchen counter, the glass snatched from her hands. He placed his arms on either side of her body, trapping her. Natasha looked at him blankly, completely nonplussed by the entire display.

Clint grinned at her suddenly. "Aww… don't be like that, sugar."

"Call me that again and I'll make sure you won't be able to- "

Natasha's words were abruptly cut off by Clint's mouth on hers. She was unresponsive for a few moments before she gave in with a sigh, her hands sliding up his muscled back to tangle in his hair. Her tongue slid into his mouth, moving to tangle intimately with his. Clint growled low in the back of his throat and pulled her more firmly into his embrace.

"Hey Clint, how's dinne- Oh. Oh, shit! Damn it, get a room, you kinky killers!"

Tony's loud, obnoxious voice completely ruined the moment. Natasha pulled back and rolled her eyes at the childish billionaire. Meanwhile, Clint attempted to get his breathing back under control.

"Shit, Tash, how the hell do you manage to kiss me like that, but look totally unaffected? This isn't fair!" Natasha glanced back at her whining archer, a glint in her eyes.

"I'm Russian, you dumbass."

* * *

A/N: Well, all I can say is that I had a lot of fun writing it. I hope you had as much fun reading it and enjoyed this as much as I did. As always, thanks for reading and comments and criticism are welcome! :)


End file.
